


The Young and the Infected

by jspequalsm



Series: The Young and The Infected [1]
Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Apocalypse, Comedy, Drama & Romance, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Apocalypse, Survival, Survivor Guilt, Teen Angst, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:54:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22844401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jspequalsm/pseuds/jspequalsm
Summary: Nick, Rochelle and the gang stumble across a small, lone, sick teen. She can't have survived by herself- so where the hell did she come from?
Relationships: Ellis/Zoey (Left 4 Dead), Nick/Rochelle (Left 4 Dead)
Series: The Young and The Infected [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642255
Kudos: 6





	The Young and the Infected

**This fanfiction was originally posted during my high-school years. While I tried to continue the story over time, I ultimately felt that I was unable to continue without first editing the original chapters. Now that school has settled, I've finally gotten around to editing this. I've been writing for years but have rarely published my work. Please let me know what you think by writing a review!**

**Disclaimer:**

**Left4dead is Valve's property.**

* * *

**Chapter 1- Run**

* * *

" _ You dumb bitch _ ," the man said, crimson liquid spewing from his lips with every painful word. "I told you to  _ run _ ." He pushed out with one bloody palm, pressing it to the collarbone of the girl that hovered over him. She shook her head frantically, brushing away his large hand as if it were nothing to her. There was no strength left in it- he could not make her leave.

“No-” she began. It was meant to be firm, but she cut herself off with her own heaving sob. She kept gripping his fingers tighter, but the blood made them ever so slippery. It was like some twisted metaphor- the harder she squeezed, the faster he slipped away. "No...no..." she began again, increasing in volume as he tried to push her again.

Hot tears pooled in her eyes. She hated that he was right, hated the thick pool of dark blood that she kneeled in, hated that it was his blood when it should have been her own.

"I can't- I won’t. Come on,  _ get up! _ ” She let out a fierce cry and and pulled with all her might- but it was hopeless. He barely budged, only letting out a low moan in response. His breathing became rapid, then slowed. With each exhale, there was a horrible bubbling sound as blood pooled at the edges of his lips. She let out a terrified wail, and the howl of a tank answered her.

His eyes darkened. Bringing one hand up to his neck, he grasped at the chain around his neck. Her eyes widened. 

"You can," he said.

“Don’t-” she began.

But it was already too late. With a soft snap, the chain broke, and he covered her hand with his, nearly engulfing it. He brushed his thumb over the back of her knuckles, then dropped the dog tags into her palm.

"Don't look back.”

She hesitated.

"Nina. Go."

The roar of a tank echoed again- closer this time. She knew- there wasn’t time. Wasn’t hope. That was her reality, now. She squeezed her eyes shut, bringing her forehead down to his knuckles as a tear escaped and trickled down her cheek.

Then her eyes opened, and she stood. “Knock ‘em dead,” she said, and he winked.

And then, without further hesitation, she ran. She ran so fast that her feet barely touched the ground, blood-soaked shoes squelching. Her arms pumped so hard that they ached, and she leaned so far forwards that she feared she might topple over. She ran even when the tank roared closer, even when she heard his final battle cry, even when the deep boom of a grenade rattled the ground.

She fucking hated herself more with every step she took. But she did as he asked.

She ran. And she did not look back.

* * *

The worst thing to be in a zombie apocalypse was alone.

It took Nina a while to realize how deep of shit she was really in. She hadn't thought while she ran- hadn't been able to afford to think. If she thought, she'd stop, she'd turn around and go back for him, and she could never survive that way. She was a few miles away before aching muscles and a sharp pain in her lungs caused her to slow to a walk.

And now, alone in an alley as the sun set on the worst day of her life, reality set in. Every rustle made her jump. Every growl made her heart race. There was no safety in numbers, now. Her clothes were heavy, crusty, and soaked. Every step shook a bit of crusted blood off of her clothes, leaving a trail behind her. Any nearby infected would surely be able to smell her; she reeked of the metallic scent of blood.

She had lived in this hell for days- weeks, months. But it was different- being alone. There were no heavy breaths beside her. No running footsteps behind her. She closed her eyes for a moment so she could pretend...

But they were all gone.

"Fuck," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. “ _ FUCK! _ ”. She drove her hand into the nearest window- but small as she was, it didn’t even crack, which only fueled her rage. Still, the throbbing pain in her hand served as a distraction, which was her intent. She shook it off and grasped her gun, proceeding with the safety off and the muzzle raised.

The teen had no time to mourn. The grief wrapped around her like a snake, squeezing her ribs, making each breath shallow and painful. She knew she had to keep moving, or it would overcome her and that would be her end. She needed to get to a saferoom before something found her.

It wasn't the regular infected she was worried about. As small as she was, her short legs carried her fast enough to outrun tanks and even hunters. But if she were to get roped up by a smoker, or carried by a charger...

She was screwed.

Not that she had much time left anyways.

Sighing, the girl pulled at the worn hospital discharge band that encircled her wrist. Out of all of them, she'd been the least likely to survive, and she was the only one left. What a fucking waste.

The howl of a hunter and the rumbling of a boomer echoed off of nearby buildings. Nina quickly regained her bearings, turning away from the wall. With shaking hands, she raised her pistol and picked off nearby infected as best she could. The fuckers waddled towards the small target, not even flinching as the majority of her shots flew wide. Her thin arms shook with every shot, her breathing rapid.

Panic and adrenaline pulsed through her. She kept shooting, but the horde just kept growing....and growing...and growing. Finally, realizing that her size and stature made her an attractively easy target, she weaved her way out and began to run again. She had no idea where she was or where she was going, but she realized it didn’t matter. There wasn’t anyone to run to anymore. There were no more goals. Stopping, sitting down and just letting the horde consume her would have been so easy. She had no will to keep going- hadn’t for months, now. But her friends had fueled her, and now, with dog tags jingling in her pockets, she felt as if she owed it to them to stay alive. Everything that had happened was because of  _ her _ . They had protected  _ her _ .

Dammit. It was so stupid.

But still- they thought she was worth saving, and had been successful. How could she stop now?

It seemed like an eternity before she found a saferoom, which, thank God, was sandwiched in between a gun shop and a grocery store. Nina had never seen a more perfect location.

There were two tables inside the room: one stockpiled with dry foods, the other holding an array of ammo and guns that Nina vaguely recognized as AK-somethings. She started rummaging through the ammo, trying to find the proper magazines for each gun....not that she would even be able to use the larger ones. So what should she pick? Her movements became more frantic as her uncertainty grew, and finally, she slammed the ammo back on the table with a cry of frustration

Fuck it all. She wasn't cut out for a zombie apocalypse. Whenever her friends had written apocalyptic fanfics, they had always included her as a supporting character. And she was always the first to die.

How ironically wrong her friends had been.

Her friends. God, help her. Nina curled up on the floor and squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could shut out the pain of the day’s events. She wanted so badly to burst into racking sobs then and there. The dog tags felt as if they were searing through the cloth of her pockets and into her skin, burning the memory of all her lost companions into her mind.

There were so many of them.

She opened her eyes and brushed away the unspilt tears clouding her vision. A scrawl of white notes on the wall caught her attention- chalk. She scoured the floor for a piece and found a stub stuffed into a corner.

The names came out faster than she could process. She didn't look at them, she just wrote. Her mind remained blissfully blank as she let her subconscious do all the work.

She signed the end with a curly goodbye, then cut her hospital band off and stuck it under the note with an incredibly stale piece of gum. A makeshift signature. Still not looking at the wall, she put the chalk away and settled down on the ground. Part of her knew that she should eat- but the crackers just didn’t seem appetizing.

Still, after all that had happened today, she figured she needed a good rest. She needed time to wrap wounds, drink some water, take her meds...maybe even sleep, if it would come.

The girl opened her bottle of pills and swallowed one. It wasn't long until she felt the drugs side effects (drowsiness and slight nausea) kick in. She closed her eyes and leaned into the wall, arms folded in front of her. Sleep, she decided, was absolutely necessary at this point.

After all, soon she'd have to go back into the apocalypse.

* * *

She woke up to a scream.

"GET THIS THING OFFA ME!" a female voice yelled. A chorus of other shouts rose up in the near distance, accompanied by machine gun shots. Nina leaped to her feet, stuffing a few more cans of food into her sack before opening the saferoom door and sprinting in the direction of the voices.

She would  _ not  _ let anyone else die today.

She knew she was close when she saw a horde of infected surrounding a group of survivors. There looked to be about four of them, two of which were covered in boomer bile. The resulting horde kept them all occupied, preventing them from saving their colleague who had been pinned to the ground by a hunter. She sprinted forwards without thinking, kicking her foot out at the last second like the hunter was a soccer ball and she was a star striker. The woman’s eyes bulged with relief, but it was short lived. More infected swarmed in. Nina raised her gun, but it was snatched out of her hand-

The thick, slimy muscle of a smoker's tongue jerked her backwards before she could reach for her gun again. "NO!" she screamed, squirming violently as she was jerked away from her fellow survivor. The tongue wound its way from her waist to around her neck, strangling her as it pulled her towards the angry infected. She clawed at the tongue, kicking in a desperate attempt to get free.

It was no use. She dug her heels into the concrete. She stabbed her nails into the tongue and drew blood. Despite her efforts, the smoker pulled her close enough to begin scratching her, digging its claws into her sides. She couldn't breathe.

Then there was a puff of smoke, a dying wheeze. The tongue went limp and she fell to the ground, sputtering. She saw the briefest flash of a scraggly male face looking up at her from below before it disappeared again, consumed by the crowd of infected.

Snapping back to her senses with a few gulps of air, Nina went for her gun. But the horde had grown. Her gun was somewhere under all those feet- no way in hell would she be able to get it.

“Here!” a voice shouted, thick with a southern accent even on just that single word. A baseball bat came flying through the air towards her, and she caught it- barely. “For yew, Darlin’!”

“Got it!” She adjusted her grip on the bat and swung as hard as she could for the nearest head. It was a wondrous sight: a splatter of brownish-red liquid erupting upwards as the rotting skull fell from the zombie’s body. Nina didn’t even flinch as the geyser of liquid rained down on her. Quick as a whip, she turned and swung the bat towards the next infected. Rage and pain and loss fueled her, and she found it surprisingly easy to smash through the rotting flesh despite her weakened muscles. She swung wildly, even after the waves of infected slowed and the smell of boomer bile was far less pungent. Soon the infected dissipated enough for her to see the rest of the survivors.

She rubbed her neck and rolled her shoulders. She was pretty sure she’d pulled a muscle. No matter- she wasn’t alone anymore! Nina made her way over to the others, still catching her breath. She caught sight of blood dripping from one of the survivor’s arm. The short black woman was the only female of the group, and Nina instantly warmed to her.

"Are you alright?" Nina wheezed. The woman nodded, pulling her pink shirt away from the wound.

"A bit scratched up, but I'm fine, thanks to you," she replied.

"Consider it even, since one of you..." Nina wagged her finger around, pointing at the various members of the group.

"Yeah, no problem," one of the men replied. He wore a white suit with a blue undershirt, which seemed far too hot for the weather, even though the sleeves were rolled up. His voice was slightly accented...something like you'd hear in Chicago.

"Name's Rochelle, you?" the woman said.

"Nina."

"Nick," the suited man said.

"I'm Ellis," a young, muscular man drawled. Nina immediately recognized him as the one that had thrown her the bat. "Some people call me El. But I prefer Ellis cause El kinda sounds like a girl's name." The boy tipped his hat to the young girl.

"Folks call me Coach," the last man replied. He was the eldest of the group, and the largest. His beer belly and warm tone gave him a fatherly aura, putting Nina at ease.

"I don't s'pose yer with anybody else?" Ellis asked, peering over the girl's shoulder. She almost said yes- before biting her lip and looking to the ground.

"...no," she said, just above a whisper. She swallowed the lump in her throat "No. I'm alone."

Rochelle’s brows drew taught. She stepped forward and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Hey, don't worry. You won't have to travel alone anymore. We could use an extra set of hands." The others nodded their agreement- well, all of them except for Nick, who merely sneered. Still, Nina brightened.

"As long as it's alright with all of you..." She grinned. "Thank you."

She had a feeling she was going to like this group very much.


End file.
